Broom Tricks and Quidditch Fics
by Elliot Green
Summary: A collection of short stories written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. / Round 13: a random wizard does some whispering.
1. Snape and Harry have a conversation

Author's Note: The motivation for this fic was writing a Snarry pairing for someone who hated Snarry. Expect a lot of subtlety.

Round 1: Not My OTP

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Keeper

NOTP written for Seeker: Harry/Severus

Word Count: 1850 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Like a Bludger**

It was clear to me almost immediately that Potter was up to no good. Skulking through the corridors, peering around corners, lurking.

Perhaps my colleagues would have given him a pass, but not I. I didn't care that he was the saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. He could be Merlin himself reincarnated, and he would still be an annoying little twat.

An annoying little twat who had just ducked into a side stairwell that I knew only led down to the dungeons. It was completely unthinkable that Potter would have any legitimate business in the dungeons, which meant that, as usual, he was up to no good. Thankfully, I was there to catch him in the act.

I followed him carefully through the corridors, and I could feel my anger rising with every step. There was no mistaking it — the brat was headed towards my office. No doubt planning on breaking in and stealing more ingredients, or perhaps planting a nasty little trick for me to find later, just like his father.

Although in my recollection, I'd never seen James Potter look so hesitant and uncertain about something. Potter was standing outside my door, staring at it like it was his potions O.W.L. and he'd neglected to study. He paced back and forth in front of it a few times, raising his hand to knock, and then putting it back down.

What was he waiting for? Some signal from an accomplice?

Finally, he knocked on my door. Hesitantly, at first, and then when there was no answer, he knocked harder. A few silent moments passed as I failed to open the door. Potter looked… dejected, perhaps, although that couldn't be right. Instead of breaking into my office as I assumed he would upon finding me gone, he instead sank to the floor, leaning his back against my door and holding his head in his hands.

I walked up to him slowly, keeping my footsteps as quiet as possible. He didn't look up.

"Potter, what are you doing?" I said, my voice cutting through the silence.

The boy jerked suddenly, looking up at me in surprise. "I was, er, well, I was waiting for you."

I stared down at him.

"Sir," he added hastily, completely misinterpreting my expression.

"I can see that," I responded blankly. "One would wonder, however, why you were doing so."

"Er…" The boy was nothing if not eloquent.

I raised an eyebrow at him. He was still sitting on the floor, and I towered over him. I was standing just a few steps away from my door, with Potter on the ground in between, so he had to look almost straight up to make eye contact with me. I found I rather preferred him like this.

"Well, sir, I wanted to- to talk to you."

"Did you," I said, as noncommittally as possible. I couldn't imagine why. He wasn't in my potions class anymore, having finished his NEWTs last year before I had taken up my teaching post again. And of course, his work as assistant Defence professor shouldn't require any of my input, given that the current professor was more than qualified and already had all of my lesson plans.

"About- about-" Potter screwed up his face, and his seeming incoherency (somehow even worse than usual) almost inspired concern in me.

"Potter, get up and get inside," I told him. I swept past him as he stood, and opened my door with a flourish. Potter slunk into the chair in front of my desk, while I went about making a cup of tea.

"How do you take yours?" I asked him, and he looked at me as if _I_ were the insane one.

"Sir?" he asked, his voice laden with bewilderment.

"Milk? Sugar?" I prompted, using my most condescending voice.

"Uh… Milk, no sugar," he said finally, and I gave him a sharp nod.

There was a long silence, until I finally set down his cup in front of him, and settled into my chair clutching my own: brewed extra strong, with lemon.

Fiddling with his mug gave Potter something to do, at least, and his nerves seemed to settle somewhat.

"Well?" I finally said, over my mug.

"Thanks," Potter muttered, eyes fixed firmly on the desk in front of him.

"I make tea for all my colleagues, Potter, regardless of how ill-suited they are for the position."

Potter winced, but he didn't say anything. How curious. I leaned forward slightly in my chair.

"No, not that," he said, still mumbling. "Thanks- for everything, I mean."

I didn't know how to respond to that. My usual vitriol had dried up in the face of the boy's expression — downcast, fearful, embarrassed, but also with what looked like a twinge of _hope_.

"There's no need to thank me," I finally settled on, and the words felt like ash coming out of my mouth. What was I supposed to say? What was he _expecting_ from me?

"I did need to," Potter said, and the words started tumbling out of his mouth. "You've done so much, and we all thought- we all assumed the worst, and the whole time- and you- and I'm so glad you lived- and I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done," Potter ended softly, his voice drifting off into nothing.

It was astounding. Potter had managed to do the impossible — this conversation was, by far, the worst conversation I'd ever had with any Potter, ever. James Potter would be rolling in his grave, no doubt.

"I didn't do it for you," I finally said, the words carefully empty of any emotion. I hadn't meant it to be cruel, or to injure, but rather as a simple statement of fact.

"I know," Potter said, a strange grimace crossing his face. "My mother-" and he cut himself off, looking pained. Of course, the boy must hate the thought that I had been in love with his mother. Served him right, for bringing it up in front of the entire world. There was no reason killing a Dark Lord needed so much posturing and conversation. Although, granted, he had thought I was dead at the time.

"I didn't do it for your mother, either," I said, and felt a hollow sense of shame at what was now my darkest secret, coming to light. Potter's honesty must be catching, for me to reveal myself so carelessly. This whole thing was fucking bizarre, and I was quite ready to be done with it.

"What do you mean?" the boy said, blinking stupidly. "The memories-"

"I loved-" This was the last thing I wanted to be talking to Potter about. So why couldn't I stop myself? "I did love her," I confirmed. It should have cost me nothing, since practically the entire world already knew, but it still hurt. "When the Dark Lord killed her, I was furious. That's why I did it, Potter. Not for her, not for a dead woman who wouldn't have given me the time of day when she died. But for me. Revenge against the Dark Lord for murdering the only person who'd ever seen good in me, who believed I could be something more. And I protected you because I owed a debt. I wanted to die a free man, or at least die trying to become one. The ugly truth is that everything I did, I did for myself."

Thankfully, there was a long silence after my unfortunate impromptu speech. Potter was looking blankly down at the table, and he was clutching his tea so hard his knuckles were turning white. If I had known a bit of honesty was all it took to shut him up, perhaps I would have tried it years ago.

Then again, maybe not.

Finally, Potter broke the silence, gaze still fixed in front of him. "You said- you said you loved her. Past tense?"

Of all the things he could have taken away from what I'd said, why the hell had he chosen that? "Pardon?" I said carefully, hoping that perhaps I'd misheard him (unlikely) or that he'd be too embarrassed to repeat it and would change the subject (rather more likely).

He flushed, his entire face turning a bright red. "Er- you said you loved her. As if you don't anymore." Of course, I'd somehow forgotten that I was dealing with the epitome of Gryffindor stupidity.

"What does it matter?" I said wearily, finally setting my tea down on my desk with a loud thud, and leaned back in my chair. I rubbed my temples with my hands, trying to stave off the headache I could already feel building, and watched as Potter awkwardly fidgeted.

"It- it matters to me," he finally said, with a quick shrug.

I desperately did not want to know what that meant, but I could feel a horrible suspicion dawning on me. "Does it?" I asked.

"I, er, sir, I-"

I should have kicked him out immediately. He looked- Merlin, he looked almost exactly like my most hated schoolyard rival, only with the eyes of the woman I'd loved. What he was- It was quite possibly my worst nightmare come to life. And Potter was _looking_ at me, wide-eyed and flushed. He was staring at me intently, and looked like he was almost ready to say whatever it was I absolutely did not want him to say.

"Potter," I said, cutting him off. "Perhaps it's for the best if you don't finish that thought." I rested a hand over my eyes, so that I didn't have to look at his expression. I'm sure it was mortifyingly crestfallen.

There was another round of silence, and I could hear the sounds of Potter drinking his tea. He was drinking it rather slowly for someone who no doubt wanted nothing more than to flee and never see me again. I finally gave in and peered at him through my fingers. He was staring off to the side, lost in thought. He looked less devastated and more like he was trying to figure out a particularly difficult puzzle. Merlin, this couldn't be happening.

"Could I come by for tea again some time?" he finally asked me, and I abruptly dropped my hand, staring at him openly. I was stunned silent by his sheer audacity. And looking at him closely, while feeling an emotion that neither Lily, nor James, had ever, _ever_ inspired in me, I realized that Potter didn't look quite so much like his parents after all. Without his glasses, he resembled James only on paper, with his dark messy hair. And of course, he'd never looked much like Lily at all, apart from sharing an eye color.

This startling realization was surely the only reason for the utter inanity that next came out of my mouth. I had simply been bankrupt of any insults, deprived of my usual wit, left destitute and empty and hollow and all that was left was-

"Yes."

His smile hit me like a bludger to the head.


	2. Percy is traumatized by a rat

Author's Note: Swag.

Round 2: Where Are We Going?

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Keeper

Location: Magical Menagerie

Word Count: 1056 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Quick as a Snitch**

It must be noted that Percy hesitated before opening the door to the Magical Menagerie. The paint was an obnoxious green, peeling and chipped. There were small, inlaid windows in the top half of the door, and through them he could see cages stacked on cages, filled with snakes and toads and cats and… rats.

Percy could also see the shopkeeper, who was staring back at him with a raised eyebrow. It was this embarrassment, the feeling of getting caught doing something he wasn't supposed to, that motivated Percy to finally open the door and step inside.

He made his way to the back where the counter was, dragging his feet while the shopkeeper looked on.

"How c'n I help ya?" the shopkeeper asked, and Percy noted with disgust that the shopkeeper was chewing gum.

"Er…" Here it was, the moment of truth. "I had some questions about, er, rats."

"Rats, eh?" the shopkeeper replied. He had graying reddish hair, thin little wire frame glasses, and a large beard. He looked oddly familiar, but Percy had been in the shop enough times that he ignored the feeling.

"Well, sort of," Percy admitted. Oh god, he couldn't do this. He felt sick. "I wanted to know- I just wanted to know if there's any way to- er, tell the difference between a real animal and an animagus." The words rushed out of him, and although saying them out loud made him feel sick to his stomach, it felt strangely cathartic.

The shopkeeper's eyebrows shot up. "Animagi, eh?" he said, and Percy felt a flash a irritation.

"Yes, animagi. I want to know how you can spot one."

The shopkeeper whistled slowly, and then popped his gum. "Ooh, that's a tough question there, laddie. Why d'ya ask?"

"Well, uh, I actually-" The strange sense of familiarity Percy was getting from the shopkeeper also provided a certain comfort, even though they were barely a minute into the conversation and Percy already wanted to rip his beard off. "My last pet turned out to be an animagus," Percy admitted.

The shopkeeper whistled again. "Hoo boy. That's a toughie, lad. I c'n help ya, sure 'nough."

"You can?" Percy said, feeling faint with relief.

"Sure, yeah. Just need to ask ya a couple questions first, ya know, to get a better idea of this here situation."

"Oh, well, okay…" Percy didn't like talking about what had happened, but if it meant it would never happen again, he'd be glad to. His parents had asked him countless questions, but the only answer he'd given was 'It was fine, nothing happened,' until they finally stopped asking.

"Ya said it was a rat, right?" The shopkeeper asked, peering over his glasses.

"Er, yeah, right," Percy agreed.

"What'd ya feed 'im?"

"Uh- Fruit, mostly, sometimes bread, I guess. He liked strawberries the best," Percy said, almost wistfully. He'd had Scabbers for so long that the rat had felt like another member of the family. He didn't really do anything, but he'd made a great prop for all sorts of games they'd played as children. Scabbers could have been a king, a knight, and a monster all in one day. Ginny had been scared of rats as a child, and Fred and George used to delight in putting him in her bed.

Percy suddenly felt nauseous.

"Hmm. Very normal, very normal. Did 'e ever do anything un-yoo-jal?" the shopkeeper asked, his accent strangling the word 'unusual'.

"Er- I'm not-" For the most part, Scabbers had been exceptionally lazy, hardly doing anything. Every so often, however, they'd find him eating something or sitting somewhere he shouldn't have been able to reach. The house had been so busy, however, that they'd always wrote it off as something someone else had done. "I guess so," Percy finally admitted.

"Like what?" the shopkeeper asked.

"He- he could always get at the biscuits, even when they were in the cupboard." Mum had never noticed, since Scabbers only ever took one. "He would just eat one, but that's not right. Wouldn't a rat nibble a couple, not just take one and finish it?"

"Aye, sound thinking, laddie."

"And he could- he could get in any room he wanted, even if the door was closed."

"That's not surprising. Good place for a pervert, ya know?"

"What?" Percy said, startled. Of course he knew it was a good place for a pervert, he'd been thinking about it non-stop. Every single childish memory he had of the rat had taken on a sinister tinge, leaving a bad taste in his mouth and fear in his heart. He'd never heard it said aloud so plainly before. He parents had always tip-toed around the subject, using euphemisms and being so careful not to say anything rude.

"Did 'e sleep wit' ya?" the shopkeeper asked, snapping his gum.

"What?" Percy repeated, feeling suddenly off-kilter and sort of like he was falling off a tall building except his feet were firmly on the ground.

"Did ya ever change in front of him?" the shopkeeper asked, and suddenly the shopkeeper's smile didn't look friendly at all anymore.

"What?" was the only thing Percy was even capable of saying. He felt paralyzed, feet stuck to the ground. He should leave. He should get his mother-

"Did he _watch_ you in the _bathroom_?" the shopkeeper said, leaning in forwards with a large grin and Percy felt small and confused, scared and anxious. He needed to run, to get _out_ -

Then suddenly the shopkeeper was shrinking in front of him. The gray in his hair disappeared; the beard and spectacles fell to the floor. The only thing left behind the counter was Fred, standing there with a shit-eating grin.

"Hey, Perce," Fred said casually. And of course it had to be Fred, because this was completely his style.

"Fred-" Percy managed, and the confusion and fear had turned to anger and irritation and although he would never admit it: relief.

"Actually, it's George," Fred said, confirming the fact that it was indeed Fred.

Percy lunged over the counter at him and Fred skipped sideways, before launching himself over the counter and running quick as a snitch towards the exit.

"I'm going to _kill_ you, you piece of shite!" Percy shouted, running after him.

Fred's laughter rang out all the way down the alley.


	3. Lily and Sirius play a game

Author's Note: I think I've accidentally written both options of the prompt, whoops. Anyway, I've written an SBLE fic, which is secretly one of my favorite pairings even though it's not very popular.

Round 3: Truth or Dare

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 2655 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **That Has to Be a Foul, Right?**

While everyone who'd known them later agreed that Lily and James were meant to be together, this fact was rather less obvious during their school years. In fact, despite James' perpetual crush on Lily, most people thought they'd never speak again after graduation.

The reason was simple: Lily Evans _hated_ James Potter. She hated his recklessness, she hated his disregard for the rules, and above all, she hated his arrogant attitude.

During the summer after his sixth year, this arrogance would be eradicated by the murder of his parents and the total annihilation of his soft, comfortable life. He would mellow out, calm down, and Lily would see a different, more mature side of him.

But this story isn't about that, or even about James at all. This story is about Lily Evans and Sirius Black, and one notable night in their fifth year.

Specifically, this story takes place in December, when James was dating Mary Macdonald (his crush on Lily temporarily put on the back burner when faced with the possibility of actually kissing a girl) and Lily had just broken up with Edmond Jones, a sixth-year Hufflepuff, after a disastrously boring week-long relationship.

It was a Tuesday evening, and most students were already in bed. Lily Evans, however, had a free period first thing Wednesday morning, and had decided to stay up a little longer to finish her Potions essay. So engrossed was she with her essay, that she didn't notice someone come downstairs into the otherwise empty common room.

"Oh fuck!" that same someone swore, and that she _did_ notice.

"Black?" Lily said in annoyance, looking up from her work. "Why am I not surprised?"

Sirius Black shrugged sheepishly. He was standing at the bottom of the boys' staircase, hiding something awkwardly behind his back. "I didn't realize you were still up," he said, attempting a charming smile.

Lily narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you doing down here?" she asked suspiciously.

"What's it to _you_ , Evans?" Sirius replied, with a haughty sniff when he realized that charm wasn't going to work.

"I'm a prefect, idiot. If you're breaking the rules, then I'm going to take points." She and Sirius had never really… _gotten along_ , one might say, if that person was a master of the understatement. Lily tolerated him slightly more than she did James, since Sirius wasn't _stalking_ her, but they certainly weren't friends. He was constantly complaining about her stuck-up attitude and inability to appreciate a good prank, and she was constantly reprimanding him for his lax attitude towards the rules.

"As if I would ever expect anything else," he replied. "Well, I'll have you know that I'm just down here to grab something I forgot. Unless forgetting things is against the rules now?"

Lily wanted nothing more than to hex that stupid smirk off his face, but she would never stoop to his level (she conveniently forgot all the times she had, in fact, hexed him).

"What's behind your back, then?" she accused, gripping her quill so tightly she was surprised it hadn't snapped.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise _holding things_ was against the rules," Sirius replied, and sat down in the corner furthest away from her.

"Aren't you going to get whatever it is you forgot?" Lily asked snidely.

"I changed my mind," said Sirius, and pointedly turned his back on her, slipping the whatever-it-was into his lap, away from her prying eyes.

Lily rolled her eyes at the boy, who was now staring at the wall, and went back to her essay. She was sure he was up to something, and she was determined to wait him out.

Unfortunately, she was right, and Sirius was equally determined to wait _her_ out.

The hours trickled by, until both of them were so exhausted they could barely keep their eyes open; both driven solely by spite.

As you are no doubt aware, dear reader, decisions made after two in the morning are almost never good. What happened next proved to be no exception.

In order to further annoy Lily, Sirius had relocated to her table, and was leaning back in his chair with his feet up. Lily studiously ignored him, but she found her eyes struggling to stay open over her essay, and she was worried she wouldn't be able to remain awake much longer. Sirius seemed to agree.

"Why don't you go to bed, Evans?" he said, even trying to make his tone sound friendly.

"Why don't _you_ go to bed, Black?" Lily shot back.

"'M not tired," he protested sleepily.

"Sure you're not. That's why you can't even keep your eyes open," Lily said, her own eyelids fluttering.

"Can too!"

"No you can't!"

"Yes I can!" Their argument invigorated them slightly, and Sirius and Lily were soon glaring angrily at each other across the table.

The staring contest continued on, until Sirius gave a sigh and slouched in his chair.

Lily grinned in triumph. "Tell me why you came down here," she said pressing her advantage.

"I told you why," Sirius muttered.

"Tell me the _real_ reason, and then I'll go to bed," Lily cajoled.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "No you won't," he said. "Not if I tell you." Belatedly, he realized what a mistake this was.

"Ahah!" said Lily triumphantly. "I knew you were hiding something!"

"Yeah, whatever."

" _Tell_ me," Lily whined. "What were you doing?"

"If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?" Sirius said moodily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're the one bothering me!" Lily protested, but acquiesced with a nod when he glared at her.

"I was going to the greenhouse to get an ingredient I need," he finally admitted.

"You were going to sneak out after curfew!" Lily gasped, with a scandalized tone.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Are you surprised?"

"Well, no," Lily admitted sheepishly. "I figured it was something like that."

"There, I told you, so why don't you just go up to bed so I can finish my errand." Sirius uncrossed his arms in order to make a shooing motion at her.

"You think I'm going to just let you break the rules?"

"Well, you don't really have any other options, do you?" Sirius asked with a smirk.

"I can tell McGonagall!" Lily threatened.

"Please, you're going to wake her up at two thirty in the morning for _that_? Besides, I already have detention for the rest of term."

Lily hesitated, conflicted by his words. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She didn't actually have any authority over him.

"So I'm just going to run along now, and you have fun with whatever pointless thing you were doing." Sirius lifted his feet from the table and dropped them to the floor, his boots thudding loudly against the common room floor.

"I'm doing my homework!"

"Exactly."

Lily groaned in frustration. "I can't just let you go, you idiot. How do I know you're not playing a prank on someone?"

"Well, you'll just have to trust me, won't you?" he said, sending her another charming smile.

Lily snorted. "Yeah, right. Do I look like I've been cursed stupid?"

"Always," Sirius said, and Lily ignored him.

"I can't just let you leave!" Lily repeated.

Sirius stood up with a flourish, and grabbed James' cloak from the ground where he'd dropped it. "Sorry, Evans, but you can't stop me."

"Then I'll come with you!" Lily said, desire to not let Sirius get the better of her taking over her common sense.

Sirius paused. "What?" he asked dumbly.

"I'll come with you," Lily asserted, the expression on his face cementing her decision. "That way I can make sure you're not going to prank anyone!" Of course, the ingredient he needed from the greenhouse probably _was_ for a prank, but Lily wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the moment.

Sirius hesitated, clearly torn. Lily stared at him expectantly, feeling confident that he'd capitulate.

"Er… Alright…" he said, reluctantly, and held up a cloak. By their fifth year, pretty much all of Gryffindor knew about James' invisibility cloak (he wasn't exactly subtle), so Lily shoved her things into her bag, leaving it in her chair. She rushed over to where Sirius was waiting, and without a word, he threw the cloak over the two of them.

"Stay close," Sirius whispered at her. She was huddled under the cloak next to him, and at his whisper she nodded.

"Er—" Sirius said, still standing there motionless. Lily raised her eyebrows at him.

"What?" she said in annoyance.

"It's just— the guys and I usually—" Sirius shrugged helplessly. He seemed conflicted about something.

"What?" Lily repeated, this time in confusion.

"It's easier to keep the cloak on this way," Sirius said, and then slung an arm around her and pulled her close. Lily stiffened in his grasp, before relaxing slightly. She stared straight forward, purposefully not looking at him. She could feel her face burning. Hopefully he wouldn't notice in the dim lighting. His arm was warm around her shoulders.

"Fine, whatever," she said faintly, and finally, _finally_ , Sirius started leading them forward.

They left the common room and made their slow, quiet way through the empty castle. At this hour, pretty much everyone was asleep, and their path was unhindered. Lily tried desperately to ignore the way Sirius was standing right next to her, gently squeezing her shoulder to indicate which direction he was headed in.

Sirius slowed to a stop before the doors, and Lily looked up at him in confusion. "Warming Charm," Sirius explained, casting the charm quickly over the two of them. For a moment, the heat was unbearable before Sirius opened the door, letting in a rush of cold air.

They made their way to the greenhouses, ignoring the footprints they left behind. By the time anyone saw them, it wouldn't matter anymore.

Sirius opened the door to Greenhouse Three, and ushered Lily inside. Once he'd closed the door behind him, he cancelled the Warming Charm and pulled the cloak off them.

"What are you looking for?" Lily asked quietly. She felt absolutely exhausted.

"Jarvey's kiss," Sirius replied, and she scrunched up her nose.

"Ew."

"Yeah, whatever, Evans." Sirius somehow seemed to know exactly where it was, and found it almost immediately. "Got it!" he said triumphantly, and shoved the shriveled root into the pocket of his robe. He turned back to Lily, who'd sat down on the ground and was leaning against the door, legs stretched in front of her. "Evans?" he asked uncertainly.

Lily blinked heavily and looked up at him. "Can we just sit for a moment before heading back?" She just needed a moment or two to gather her energy again, then she'd be ready. Honest.

"Uh— Yeah, okay," Sirius said, and sat down next to her.

They sat in silence for a moment, before Sirius suddenly started laughing.

"What?" Lily asked, too tired to make it any sort of accusation.

"It's just— I can't believe I'm sitting here, after curfew, with _you_ of all people."

"What do you mean by that?" Lily asked indignantly, the annoyance cutting through her exhaustion again.

"Well— No offence, Evans, but you're a bit— You seem to really like rules."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yesterday you said if I was any more uptight I'd wind up on the ceiling." Actually, he'd used quite a few swear words as well, but Lily wasn't about to repeat them.

Sirius looked over at her, and even though it was dark Lily thought that maybe she could make out just a bit of colour on his cheeks. He was sitting rather close, their shoulders touching. He'd stretched his legs out as well, although his were longer than hers. He'd crossed his ankles, his left foot twitching slightly.

"And now here you are," he said, and was that wonder in his voice? He was staring at her, and Lily felt like she'd just downed an entire cup of coffee.

"Yeah, here I am," she said softly. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the thrill of breaking the rules for the first time in her entire life, but she found she suddenly desperately didn't want to head back to the castle. The whole evening felt _special_ , like something important was about to happen and she needed to pay attention. But it hadn't happened yet, and she couldn't let the evening end before it did. "Want to play a game?" she asked desperately.

"What?" Sirius asked in surprise.

Lily gave a casual shrug. "You know, if you want to."

"Truth or dare?" Sirius asked with a small smile, and Lily rolled her eyes, but nodded. Sirius was always trying to get people to play with him.

"Fine, but I'm going first: truth or dare? You're going to pick dare, obviously."

"Well then, truth," Sirius stated, and grinned at her. Lily felt her own lips twitching back in response.

"Why don't you ever talk to your brother?" Lily asked, mouth moving before her brain caught up. Sirius' smile immediately turned into a frown. He pulled away from her, and Lily felt a pang of- of _something_ , before he shifted around so that he was sitting facing towards her, legs crossed.

"Wow, Evans, you don't fuck around, do you?" He paused for a moment. "My parents suck," he said slowly. "And Reg is- well, he takes their side. My whole family's just shitty. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Lily said, not exactly surprised to find that Sirius didn't have the best home life. She sat up straighter, pulling her legs in so that she was sitting cross-legged as well.

"Why are you such good friends with Snape?" he asked her.

"We grew up together," Lily told him. "He was the first wizard friend I ever had. He saw that I was magic before I did. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Sirius said, his smile returning. He shifted slightly, and now their knees were touching-

"How'd you do so well on your exams last year?" He'd only been a few spots behind her in the rankings.

Sirius rolled his eyes, although he was still smiling. "Of course you'd ask that. Remember when I kept sneaking out to meet that Hufflepuff I was seeing?"

"Yeah?"

"I was actually sneaking out to study," he admitted, and Lily laughed.

"Only you would pretend to have a girlfriend just so no one would know you were studying." Lily's hands were resting on her legs, and Sirius' were resting on his, and their fingers were brushing-

"Truth or dare?" Sirius said, running his fingertips gently along her fingers.

"Truth," Lily said, and she could feel her heart beating in her chest.

"Why'd you and Edmond break up?" he asked quietly. He was staring at her intently, eyes appearing almost black in the dim light. His dark hair curled gently around his face, and his lips were-

"He wasn't exciting enough." Lily's stomach twisted. She leaned in slightly, and felt Sirius' fingers tighten around hers. "Truth or dare?" she whispered. "Pick dare."

"Dare," Sirius said, eyes wide. His gaze flickered down to her lips.

"I dare you to kiss me," Lily breathed, and Sirius obliged.

They returned to their dormitories very late that night.

Lily and Sirius dated — if it could even be called that — in secret for about two weeks, until Sirius played another prank, and Lily yelled at him, and they didn't speak again until February.

By some unspoken agreement, neither of them ever told James, not even after they'd all graduated and James and Lily had gotten married. Not because James would be upset, but because he _wouldn't_. He'd find the whole thing so funny he'd never let either of them live it down ever again.

Sirius did end up telling Remus, though, one lonely winter's night after they'd graduated, and Remus laughed so hard that he fell off his bed.

All three of them took the secret to their graves.


	4. Dolores Umbridge lets someone in

Author's Note: This is actually based on some background I developed for Umbridge in a longer fic I'm writing. I'm differing from the Pottermore backstory mainly because I didn't know about it when I first came up with this, lol. And also because I actually like my version better (although the Pottermore one is very interesting).

Round 4: Umbridge

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 1007 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **An Umbridge Family Christmas**

When Dolores Jane Umbridge was a little girl, she had an imaginary friend. She called him Fenrir, because she thought wolves were cute and wanted to have one for a pet.

She made up stories and adventures for them, and she loved him more than anything because he was her only friend. The other girls in school ignored her, but Fenrir never did.

Her parents thought it was sweet, and they always put down an extra plate for him, which he always licked clean. Her little sister made fun of her, but Dolores knew that she was only jealous, because she wanted a friend that cool as well.

When Dolores was older, not yet a teenager but too old to still be called little, she opened the door to death.

He had a charming smile, and told her he was a friend of her father's from work.

"Is your father home, sweetie?" he asked her kindly, and she felt flustered. Dolores was not a pretty young girl, and in a world such as ours, young girls that aren't pretty often get ignored. She wasn't used to this sort of attention, especially not from someone she thought was handsome.

"Er— no," she said awkwardly. "But he'll be home soon, I think."

"Can I come in?" said the stranger, and his smile was wide.

"I— I'm not supposed to let strangers in," Dolores said hesitantly, for she had been told by her parents to be very careful whom she invited in. The wards on the house would keep bad people out— but only if they weren't invited.

"I'm hardly a stranger," the man protested gently. "My name is Fenrir. See? Now you know all about me."

It may have been the way he smiled at her as if she were actually important, or the casual and confident way he spoke about her father, but most likely it was his name — the same name of her only childhood friend — that caused her to step back from the door and invite him into the house.

He sat politely on the couch in the living room as she fetched him a cup of tea, gazing around the room with an almost hungry look in his eye. He stared at the photographs placed on the mantle, the stockings hanging over the fireplace, the tree standing proudly in the corner—

It was Christmas time, after all.

The silence stretched on awkwardly as young Dolores perched on an armchair. She felt strange leaving the man alone, but wasn't sure what she could offer in terms of entertainment.

The man checked his watch, and Dolores decided to try for some small talk.

"So you work with my father?"

"Ah yes, I did say that," he replied.

"What business do you have with him?" she asked, already more formal than most girls her age would be.

"Don't worry, Dolores," he said. "You'll find out soon enough."

"How do you know my name?" Dolores asked, a sense of unease growing.

The man ignored the question. "Is your sister home?" he asked instead.

"Er— She and my mother are out getting a cake. It's her birthday, you see."

"Her birthday!" he said, delighted. "And just a few days before Christmas as well. How lovely."

The front door opened again, and Dolores' mother and younger sister came through. They were both laughing, and her mother was carrying a large box.

The older woman fell silent when she saw the stranger sitting on her couch.

"He says he's a friend of daddy's," Dolores said defensively. "From work."

"Did he?" said her mother, with a nervous chuckle. "Well, Orford will be home soon enough."

"You must be Ellen?" the man asked, grinning at her.

"Yes!" Dolores' mother said, relieved to see some corroboration of his story, as weak as it was. She had never met any of Orford's work friends, and although she never admitted it to herself, the reason was likely because she was a Muggle and he was ashamed.

The man checked his watch again. "I'm Fenrir," he said distractedly, a growing excitement in his eyes. "It's so very nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you as well," Ellen said, and set the cake down on the coffee table.

Except, as it turned out, it wasn't very nice to meet him at all. Because five minutes later — five minutes of polite, slightly awkward small talk — Fenrir Greyback turned into a wolf. A hungry, ravenous wolf.

He started with the youngest. She had been sitting next to him on the sofa, and when he'd started turning, she'd been paralyzed with fear. Ellen had screamed, empty-handed and utterly defenceless.

He started with the youngest— but he didn't finish there.

Dolores watched from the corner of the sitting room as the man she'd let into the house turned into a monster and ate her younger sister. She watched as her mother screamed and cried, throwing anything she could get her hands on at the creature. Nothing worked, of course, and the monster turned on her next, drool dripping from his overly large teeth.

Hearing her mother suddenly fall silent shocked Dolores into action, and she took advantage of the beast's distraction to flee the living room. She tore through the kitchen, and out the door towards the neighbor's yard. This neighbor also had wards up, and had babysitted the Umbridge girls on occasion. Most importantly: his yard was protected against werewolves.

He looked for her, of course, prowling the edge of the ward boundary. Back and forth, back and forth — she watched him from just out of sight. Until finally, _finally_ , he grew bored and wandered away.

The wolf was gone by the time Orford Umbridge arrived home. He opened the door expecting to see his wife and daughters enjoying a cake and opening presents, and instead saw blood. Blood spattered across the furniture, drenching the curtains, dripping from the carefully decorated tree.

And in the middle, Dolores Jane Umbridge sat silently, pale as a ghost.


	5. Hermione is way too nice

Author's Note: According to the dictionary, one of the definitions of chivalrous is "gracious and honorable toward an enemy, especially a defeated one, and toward the weak or poor." Hermione was the first character to come to mind when I thought about who would be gracious towards a defeated enemy.

Round 5: Daffodil (Write about a character acting chivalrous, or having another character acting chivalrous towards your character.)

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 1208 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **In Which Malfoy Relies on the Kindness of an Enemy**

It wasn't often that Hermione found herself roaming the corridors after midnight, but she felt strongly that every time she did, something terrible happened.

It was Friday evening, and she'd been studying in a remote corner of the library when Hermione had fallen asleep over her books. It had been such a long week, between revising for O.W.L.s and planning DA lessons, that at the end of it she'd been absolutely exhausted.

The nightmares certainly didn't help matters. They had the same theme every time: she'd be at school and the Prophet would come, bearing an image of her parents on the front page, murdered by Voldemort. Or she'd be at her house and he would appear, killing her parents while she sat frozen beside them. The dreams were pure fiction (after all, the Prophet would never run a story about the death of two Muggles on the front page, and there was no reason for Voldemort to target her parents specifically anyway), but it still meant she'd suffered many sleepless nights..

It was thinking about these nightmares, in a very dark frame of mind indeed, that Hermione encountered Draco Malfoy in the corridor.

"What are _you_ doing here, Mudblood?" he said with a nasty sneer.

Hermione was startled at how venomous his tone was, although she realised a moment later that she shouldn't have been. What had once been a stupid schoolyard feud between two Houses had turned into real hatred. When had everyone grown up? Hermione still felt like they'd been children just yesterday.

"I could ask the same of you," Hermione replied, and Malfoy glared at her.

"I have every right to go wherever I want," he stated. "I'm a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, after all."

"How very nice for you," retorted Hermione, rolling her eyes.

Malfoy took this as an attack, however, and drew his wand. "How dare you speak to me that way, you filthy animal?"

His words — despite coming from someone who was clearly nothing more than an entitled ponce — still stung. Hermione forced herself not to react, other than slowly drawing her wand. The last thing she wanted was a fight, but she also wasn't about to let Malfoy walk all over her. At least he didn't have any of his goons with him.

"Get out of my way!" he shouted, brandishing his wand at her.

"I'm not _in_ your way," Hermione protested. And she wasn't — there was plenty of space in the corridor for both of them to walk by each other without any sort of incident whatsoever.

" _Stupefy_!" Malfoy yelled.

Hermione quickly brought up a shield to deflect the curse away from her. The practice she'd been getting in the DA was turning out to be very helpful after all.

"What the hell, Malfoy?!" Hermione called out angrily.

"How dare you try to curse me!" he shouted back, even though they weren't even that far from each other and there was no need whatsoever for raised voices.

"It was a shield spell!" Hermione suddenly noticed that something was off about the boy — even more than usual. She examined him carefully, when a familiar smell tickled her nose. "Are you drunk?" she asked, scandalized.

"N-no! _You're_ drunk!" Malfoy replied, confirming her theory.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just leave me alone," she said, and took a step around him. Malfoy brandished his wand again.

"Stay right there!" he said, contradicting his earlier demand for her to get out of his way. "I'm not going to let a stupid little Mudblood get me in trouble!"

Hermione was getting supremely tired of his posturing. "I don't care if you've been drinking, I just want to go to bed," she grumbled. Unfortunately, Malfoy was not receptive to logic.

" _Reducto_!" He exclaimed.

His aim was so terrible that Hermione didn't even need to move to dodge it. "Are you trying to _kill_ me?!" she asked, scandalised.

"Sh- shut up!" he slurred back at her.

Hermione had had enough. " _Expelliarmus_ ," she whispered.

The charm went unnoticed by her opponent until the wand was ripped out of his hand and landed in Hermione's waiting palm.

"I'm going to kill you!" Malfoy yelled, charging at her.

" _Petrificus Totalus_ ," Hermione incanted quickly.

Malfoy went rigid before he could reach her and promptly fell over. There was a nasty sound when he hit the ground, and blood began to pool underneath his head.

"Oh no!" she cried, kneeling down on the floor by Malfoy's head to get a better look.

On closer inspection, there wasn't a lot of blood, but it seemed that Malfoy had indeed sustained at least a small head wound. " _Episkey_ ," she said, and the wound closed up. She cleaned up the blood with another charm, and let the petrification curse falter just enough so that Malfoy could speak.

"Are you alright?" she asked him. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm fine. No thanks to you," he said sullenly.

"Look, I'm sorry," Hermione replied. "I wasn't going to let you hit me, but I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

Malfoy glared at her. "Let me go," he demanded, every inch the haughty Pureblood prince he liked to remind everyone he was.

"Are you going to try to attack me again?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"Would you even believe me if I said no?" Malfoy pointed out, and Hermione sighed.

"I guess not." She hesitated for a moment. "I don't want to just leave you here," she admitted.

"Why not?" he asked, less hostile in his confusion.

"It just doesn't seem right to leave you here, defenceless," Hermione explained, and looked around for some inspiration.

"You could take me back to my common room," Malfoy suggested.

"What, so your friends can jump me? No thanks."

"Granger, I don't give a flying shit what you do, just let me fucking go." Malfoy had clearly run out of what little patience he had, and Hermione was honestly surprised he'd lasted as long as he had.

"Do you mind if I just tuck you under a tapestry? Probably no one will notice you, and the curse'll wear off in just a few minutes, once I'm gone."

Despite his recent bravado, he looked uncertain. "A tapestry?" he asked nervously.

"I'll cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on you as well, okay?" Hermione offered.

"Ugh, fine. Anything so that this stupid conversation will end."

Hermione rolled his eyes at his obvious lie (since _anything_ would have included being put behind a tapestry without any extra charms), but at least he'd stopped calling her names.

Another quick charm, and Malfoy was tucked carefully behind the nearest tapestry, which, since Hogwarts was rather lavishly decorated, was just down the corridor.

The cloth hung from the ceiling to just above the floor, and did a decent job of hiding Malfoy in the poor lighting. A quick Notice-Me-Not charm later, and Hermione was sure he would be safe until her curse wore off. She set his wand down next to him and then legged it down the corridor.

Later, Harry and Ron would protest loudly that she should have taken advantage of the situation, but Hermione knew that deep down (deep, deep down) Malfoy was grateful that she hadn't.


	6. James and Sirius Have Dinner

Author's Note: This one was tricky because Mean Girls is, at its core, a movie about girls, but Harry Potter is, well, mostly about guys. There isn't really a strong group of female friends in HP, so I decided to settle and use the Marauders instead. That being said… This fic draws inspiration on themes from the movie, but doesn't follow the plot at all. Namely, the theme of teenagers not understanding how far is too far, and how to not be jerks to your friends.

Round 6: Mean Girls

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 1252 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Dinner for Two**

James Potter swung a leg over the bench and thumped down next to his long-time best friend, compatriot, and partner-in-crime Sirius Black.

"Ugh, it's you," Sirius said, pushing a plate of potatoes over towards James.

"Fuck you too," James replied, shoving a plate of green beans back over in response.

"No, _you_ are."

"You are."

"Will you two shut up? I'm getting a headache," Remus Lupin said from across the table, not even looking up from his textbook.

"Well!" Sirius said, turning away from James. It seemed he'd found a better target. "Isn't someone in quite the mood today? Acting all prissy, what a surprise."

"Just not in the mood for you," Remus muttered, still keeping his eyes focused on the page in front of him.

"Don't be silly; everyone's always in the mood for me. There must be something wrong with you," Sirius said regally.

"Where's Peter?" James interrupted, playing with a pair of spoons. He hadn't seen the boy since classes ended earlier.

"Crying in the dorm, no doubt," Sirius replied darkly, still glaring over at Remus.

"Why would he be crying?" asked James blankly. Peter had seemed fine in Charms earlier.

"I don't know!" Sirius exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "How would I know? It's Peter! He's just weird like that sometimes. Still not as weird as Remus though."

Remus stood abruptly and snapped his book shut. Wordlessly, he gathered his things and then marched out of the Great Hall.

James and Sirius stared after him in quiet fascination.

"You made Remus angry," they both said simultaneously. The two thirteen-year-olds stared at each other for a moment.

"Jinx," they both said at the same time. Sirius frowned. James narrowed his eyes.

"Double jinx," they both quickly yelled.

"Triple jinx!"

"Just shut up!" Lily Evans called from down the table, and James and Sirius reluctantly fell silent.

They stared down at their plates for a moment, before glancing over at each other and snickering.

Peter arrived a few moments later, still carrying his bulging schoolbag over his shoulder. "What happened to Remus?" he asked, taking the seat across from James.

"He threw a fit and stormed out," Sirius informed him, and James rolled his eyes.

"You were annoying him," James pointed out.

"No, I wasn't!" Sirius protested. "If anything, you were annoying him!"

"Whatever," Peter mumbled, helping himself to some potatoes.

"Anyway, forget Remus, what happened to you?" Sirius asked in a belligerent tone.

"What do you mean?" said Peter, bewildered.

"I haven't seen you since classes ended!" exclaimed Sirius.

"Uh… so?"

Sirius slouched in his seat. "It's just weird, is all."

"You're weird," James said automatically. He fidgeted in his seat, clacking his spoons against each other.

"Not as weird as you!"

"I was just taking a walk," Peter said with a shrug.

"Without me!" Sirius cried, throwing a hand against his forehead dramatically. "It's like you don't even value our friendship anymore."

Peter rolled his eyes. "What, do you want me to hang out with you twenty-four seven?" He shovelled some food into his mouth, and eyed the roast chicken speculatively.

"Ugh, definitely not," Sirius said.

"Imagine how quickly you'd get sick of his face," James agreed. "No offence Peter."

"Yeah, I'd probably go crazy. I'd have to jump off the Astronomy tower just to get away from him."

Peter's fork stilled. He stared at Sirius, uncertain.

"No offence," Sirius added quickly, seeing Peter's expression.

"Okay," Peter replied awkwardly, and looked down at his place.

James nudged Sirius, looking pointedly at the salt.

Sirius followed his gaze, and then glanced back at James. He nodded, and then grinned in anticipation.

James pulled out his wand, but held it under the table out of Peter's sight.

Sirius coughed suddenly, causing Peter to look up at him in concern. James muttered a small spell under his breath, which went unheard.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked, pushing the water jug closer to where Sirius was still faking a coughing fit.

"Yes," Sirius gasped, but poured himself a cup of water and drank it down.

"Try holding your breath," Peter suggested, and Sirius put his cup down and looked over at Peter skeptically.

"Why the hell would I do that?" he asked.

"Er… I dunno. It's just what my nan used to tell me." Peter shrugged.

"What does your nan know about coughs?" Sirius challenged.

"Just, you know, general stuff."

"Like what?" Sirius pressed further.

Peter shrugged again, shifting uncomfortably. "I dunno. She's old though, she's gotta know something."

"Hey, Sirius, leave off," James interrupted. "Let the man enjoy his food in peace."

Sirius fell obligingly silent, and Peter, too grateful to James to realise he should be suspicious, shoved a large bite of potato in his mouth.

And promptly spat it back out.

James and Sirius erupted into riotous laughter, earning them many glares from the older students farther down the table, while Peter stared blankly at his plate.

"Shhh!" one of the prefects practically shouted at them, and James and Sirius managed to quiet their laughter down to a more tolerable level.

Peter pulled the platter back towards him, and James hastily grabbed his wand again and muttered another spell.

This time, Peter noticed, although the pile of pepper suddenly covering his food was hard to miss.

"Come on guys," Peter whined, trying the chicken.

Sirius decided to join in the fun, and flicked his wand, covering the chicken in mushroom gravy. Normally, this would have added to the dish, if anything, but Peter happened to hate mushrooms.

"Will you stop?" Peter begged, but of course they didn't. In fact, they continued for another ten minutes, until finally, the dinner platters disappeared, leaving only the pudding.

Peter stared at his suddenly empty plate in dismay. "I didn't get to eat dinner…" he mumbled to himself.

"Good show, James," Sirius said triumphantly.

"Good show?!" Peter cried. "I hardly had anything for lunch and now I've missed dinner! Do you know how hungry I am?"

"Just eat pudding," James said with a shrug.

"I don't want pudding," Peter whined. "I wanted chicken."

"Lighten up, Peter," Sirius said. "It was just a joke."

"Well, I didn't think it was very funny," Peter replied, with a pinched expression.

"You don't have to think it was funny," Sirius explained patiently. "The joke was for us, not for you."

"I'm heading back to the common room," Peter announced, and left the table with one last forlorn look at his empty plate.

There was a moment of silence.

"Pass me that pudding, will you?" Sirius said, gesturing at a bowl on the other side of James.

James moved it over to him, and fell quiet for a moment. "Do you… do you think maybe we should've stopped?" he finally asked, voice laden with hesitation.

"Pfft," came Sirius' reply.

"Only it's just… If Peter stops spending time with us, who'll we play pranks on?"

"We can still play pranks on him," Sirius replied, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"And if Remus doesn't want to talk to us, who'll secretly be amused by our jokes?"

"We can be amused at our own jokes," Sirius protested, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it.

"I'm just saying, maybe we should lay off him for a while," James finished, and shrugged casually as if he didn't think his words were that important.

"Maybe for a little while," Sirius agreed uncertainly. "A week, tops. Maybe a couple days."

"Yeah," James said quietly. "Maybe a couple days."


	7. Snape and Hermione Have Lunch

Author's Note:

Round 7: Muggle Me This!

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: Write about two witches or wizards going undercover in a Muggle town and having to learn to live like Muggles.

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 2371 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **The Quiet Life**

Severus Snape dove out of the way of an oncoming lorry.

"Watch out!" Hermione Granger called, as the lorry disappeared down the street without even stopping to investigate the almost-accident.

Snape glared at her from his position on the ground. "I believe it's a little late for that," he snarled up at her.

Hermione sniffed. "Well, I tried." She offered him a hand, but he ignored her and pushed himself off the ground. He pointedly brushed off his Muggle clothes in front of her (white button down, black trousers, and a black jacket— not that different from his regular wizarding apparel). She rolled her eyes and turned back to examine their target.

It was three years after the war (which Snape had survived thanks to Fawkes' timely intervention) had ended, and Minerva had asked them to investigate a small town in the north of England for suspected death eater activity. There were rumours that death eaters had been hiding out in the town, and a few suspicious deaths had leant enough credence to the rumour that Minerva had thought it wise to investigate.

Perhaps less wise was her choice of investigators, but a recent illness going around the Ministry hadn't left her much freedom. Most remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix still worked for the Ministry in some capacity, and had all been exposed to what seemed to be a variation on the flu. It also didn't help that the Ministry itself couldn't send people to investigate without actual evidence, especially since they were so short on personnel at the moment. Snape worked from home, and Hermione worked at a private research organisation. Both of them were also anti-social enough that they hadn't caught the illness from their friends before the symptoms had become apparent.

Their actual investigation was fairly straightforward; they simply had to stroll around town, looking for Muggle-repelling wards.

Or, at least, it had _seemed_ straightforward, until Snape was almost hit by a lorry.

"How did you not see that coming?" Hermione commented, a moment later.

Snape found her comment even more insulting with the thoughtful pause that had come before it. "It wasn't there when I looked," he replied stiffly. He adjusted the sleeves of his jacket self-consciously; they weren't long enough to suit his tastes.

The two of them strolled down one of the side streets in town, considering his excuse. Snape, in reluctant embarrassment, and Hermione, in incredulous amusement.

"Perhaps you should get your eyes checked," Hermione said primly, hiding her smile. "Oh, look, there's an optometrist's shop— oh, sorry, I forgot you can't see."

Snape pointedly avoided looking at her, instead glaring at the optometrist's as they walked by. "If you were still in school—" his threat, delivered through gritted teeth, was cut off by another impertinent response.

"I know, I know. If I were still in school, you'd give me detention, or take house points, or some other such nonsense." Hermione punctuated her comments with a roll of her eyes. "Good thing I'm _not_ still in school then."

"You didn't think it was such nonsense when you _were_ still in school," Snape pointed out.

Hermione sighed. "I think the biggest insult you can give someone is to tell them they're just like they were as a teenager."

Snape pondered her non sequitur for a moment, before conceding the truth of her statement. "Perhaps," was all he said out loud, but Hermione understood the meaning behind his words and smiled softly.

"There we go," she said after a moment, as they walked past a building that no one else seemed to notice.

"Shall we get lunch?" Snape said, gesturing to a small cafe that was conveniently located right across the street from the building.

They sat down on the patio outside, each of them half-heartedly perusing the menu.

"Why in the center of town?" Hermione finally asked, keeping her voice quiet. "They could have hidden in the middle of the forest somewhere and no one would've ever found them."

Snape gave her a considering look. "Those who tend to be death eaters are often unable to live without magic," he explained, speaking slowly in order to allow his thoughts time to assemble. "An operation of this size, with everyone casting as they normally do, would generate enough magical activity to be tracked by the Ministry. Especially given their latest… advances."

Hermione grimaced. "Right, of course. So they could live like Muggles and hide forever— or live like wizards and be caught almost immediately."

Snape nodded. "I suppose they felt they could hide themselves well enough in the city, but of course without access to a proper ward specialist, they never would have been able to hide for long."

The two of them fell silent as a waiter approached, pad and pen readily in hand.

"What can I get you two today?" the waiter said cheerfully, twirling the pen casually in his fingers.

"I'll just have a cup of earl grey," Hermione said, closing her menu and setting it aside.

"Very good. And for you sir?"

"What's your soup today?" Snape asked, ignoring Hermione's skeptical expression.

"Split pea," the waiter replied promptly.

"I'll take a bowl of that and a glass of lemonade." Snape handed his menu over to the waiter.

Hermione waited until the waiter had walked away before leaning in curiously. "Lemonade?" she asked, looking torn between amusement and incredulity.

Snape didn't bother defending himself, and merely raised an eyebrow at her instead.

Hermione sighed, and sat back in her chair, glancing over at the mysterious property across the street.

"What if they're just apparating in?" she asked. "We might be out here forever waiting to catch a glimpse of them."

"It's likely there are anti-apparition wards around the property, although they may have a back exit that they use. If we don't see anyone enter this afternoon, we might take a walk around the block."

Hermione nodded absently, distracted by thoughts of what might be happening in the building.

"Your tea," a waitress said, startling Hermione, who hadn't noticed her arrive.

"Oh, thanks," she muttered, and pulled the cup towards her. She took a careful sniff, smiling slightly at the scent of bergamot that gently entered her sinuses.

"And your lemonade," the waitress continued blithely, depositing a glass filled with a pale yellow liquid in front of Snape.

"Hmm," Snape mumbled in acknowledgement. He tapped the glass lightly with a slim finger, watching the way the liquid rippled on top.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked as the waitress disappeared into the cafe.

Snape gave her an unimpressed look. "Checking for poison, obviously," he drawled. "I can hardly use magic, given the purpose of this exercise is subtlety, so I'm forced to resort to more… primitive methods."

"Like tapping the glass?" questioned Hermione, doubt clear in her voice.

"Like checking the _consistency_ to make sure it's not thicker than it should, or uneven. Many poisons don't dissolve well in water."

Hermione was still skeptical that such a method would actually be effective, but she was hardly going to argue with a Potions Master about poisons.

Snape frowned at his glass. "I can't tell if it's the sugar—" he muttered to himself, before holding the glass below his face and wafting the air above it towards his nose. "It _smells_ like lemons."

"Having trouble?" Hermione asked snidely, as she took a sip of her tea. It was almost too hot to drink, but the flavour was excellent.

"Hush," Snape admonished, without even looking at her. He was still frowning at his glass, mixing the liquid with his butter knife.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just try it," she said, taking another pointed sip of tea.

"I haven't lived this long to suddenly develop a death wish," Snape protested, holding the glass up to the sky and peering through it. "There's definitely _something_ suspended in it," he added to himself, frowning.

"Here's your soup, sir," the first waiter said, ignoring Snape's strange behaviour with an air of someone who'd seen quite a lot.

The soup was a dark, brownish green, and Hermione thought it looked sort of like the fake vomit Fred and George used to leave around the common room. She stayed silent, however, since _she_ wasn't the one eating it.

Snape looked at the soup with a critical eye. He tapped the side of the bowl.

"For goodness' sake!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands in the air. "It's practically solid! How on earth are you going to tell if _it's_ poisoned?"

"Very carefully," Snape said, although he looked doubtful.

"Well, _I'm_ enjoying my tea like a normal person, thank you very much. It's very nice." Hermione took another large sip to prove her point.

Snape reluctantly lifted his spoon and gave the soup a quick stir. The colour on the bottom was different than the colour on the top.

"Is that a bad thing?" Hermione asked, a frown on her face. She hadn't had split pea soup since she was a kid, and so she didn't know what to expect.

"Not necessarily," Snape admitted with a shrug. He looked down at the soup longingly, before sighing and scooping up a spoonful.

Hermione watched with bated breath as he swallowed his soup and then paused. "Well?" she demanded impatiently.

Snape sighed. "It's fine," he said.

Hermione scoffed. "Of course it's fine," she muttered to herself, with another roll of her eyes.

"Ah, here's your bread, sir!" the waitress from earlier said cheerfully, setting a small plate with a single slice of bread on it onto the table.

Snape looked at the small portion doubtfully, but otherwise didn't respond.

The waitress visibly deflated.

"Oh, don't worry," Hermione said kindly, feeling embarrassed by her choice of lunch companion. "He's always like that."

"That's okay," the waitress said, although she had yet to regain her original cheer. "You see all sorts in this job," she admitted.

Snape pointedly ignored them, and took another spoonful of soup.

"Have you been working here long?" Hermione asked curiously. The waitress looked older than Hermione, maybe fifteen years or so.

"Ooh, yes, maybe four or five years now. Me and John started at the same time. He's your waiter," she added. "We're old friends. Went to school together, you see, a long time ago."

"Oh, where did you go?" Hermione asked, feeling somewhat obligated to see the conversation through now that she'd started it.

"Somewhere in Scotland," the waitress said dismissively. "We wanted somethin'… different, ya know? Quieter."

"Oh, of course," Hermione agreed, although from what she'd seen of Scotland (which, admittedly, only included the part that the Hogwarts Express ran through), it was very quiet indeed.

Snape, in the meantime, had somehow finished his bowl of soup.

"Cor, that was fast! I'll just be taking that then," the waitress said, some of her cheer returning. She picked up the bowl and bustled back into the interior of the cafe.

"You could have been nicer," Hermione sniffed.

"I doubt that," Snape commented idly, looking over at the warded building across the street. He took an absent sip of lemonade.

And immediately started choking.

"Shite!" Hermione cried, sitting straight up in shock. "You were right!"

"I'm— always—" Snape couldn't get the words out through his wheezing gasps.

Their waiter (apparently called John) and the waitress rushed out of the cafe.

"Maggie, get him some water!" John called, and she disappeared back inside. He pulled a phone out of his pocket and dialed 999. "Hello? This is an emergency! Someone's choking!"

"Move, John!" Maggie came back with the water and shoved John out of the way. He disappeared back inside.

Hermione felt singularly helpless as Snape wheezed over the table. She wanted to draw her wand, but that would attract all sorts of attention they couldn't risk right now. But if he died, it wouldn't matter.

"Herm—" Snape tried to say, and that decided it for Hermione.

"He's been _poisoned_!" Hermione exclaimed to Maggie, who dropped the water glass she'd been trying to tempt Snape with.

" _Poisoned_?" she asked incredulously.

Hermione drew her wand.

"Oh shite!" Maggie cursed. "This is the last thin' I need right now!" With that, she disappeared back into the cafe at a dead run.

Hermione, however, had no time to puzzle over this strange behaviour, and instead cast a diagnostics spell. She sighed in relief at the results.

"You'll be fine," she said, and cast a spell that made Snape promptly throw up all over the table.

Hermione Vanished the mess with a quick jab of her wand.

Snape panted, but thankfully he was no longer choking. "What— what was it?" he wheezed.

"Frog petal juice," Hermione explained.

Snape frowned. "How in the hell—"

"No time— duty calls!" Hermione interrupted, looking across the street to where someone wearing a dark robe had just exited the building and ducked down a side alley. She grabbed her jacket and jumped over the low fence separating the patio from the sidewalk.

Snape sighed, and threw twenty pounds down on the table. "Time to get to work," he muttered, and followed Hermione across the street.

Once the two of them were gone, Maggie and John cautiously exited the cafe to examine the empty table.

"Well, that's us done in," Maggie said cheerfully. "They'll be all over the place now, there'll be no avoidin' 'em. So much for a peaceful life away from magic."

John scowled. "Things were perfectly fine until those Death Eaters showed up and ruined it. Why were they even _here_?" he complained. "There are a thousand quiet towns they could have holed up in. Or they could have moved to the forest, away from everyone! Why do we have to move _again_?"

Maggie looked him straight in the eye. "John, you know very well that no Death Eater's gonna listen to rhyme or reason— and you _also_ know that once the wizards know we're here we'll never get a moment's peace ever again."

John sighed. "I know, you're right. They never _could_ comprehend why anyone would want to live as Muggles." He hesistated for a moment. "I heard Coventry's nice this time of year," he offered her, a small smile stretching across his face.

"That's the spirit!"


	8. Fred makes a friend

Author's Note: For the user MaryandMerlin, chaser two of the Canons.

Round 8: Headcanons

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: Despite playing it up as a joke, Fred hated that nobody could tell him and George apart and it made him feel like he didn't have his own identity. (It wasn't until he found a girl that could tell them apart and noticed the little quirks that made him different to George that he let himself have feelings for anyone.)

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 1107 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Twin v. Twin**

When they were kids, they would switch identities because it made them feel special. It made them feel like it was them against the entire world, that this was a secret that only the two of them shared.

As they grew older, it started to become a practical joke— their greatest prank. It became almost an automatic reaction, an instinctive response every time anyone named them.

What did names really mean, when two things were identical?

Lately, however, Fred had been feeling that maybe they weren't so identical after all.

George always did better in Potions. He seemed to have a knack for mixing things together that Fred just couldn't touch. He knew the ingredients better, too, and his essays were always well-developed.

Fred was better at Charms, though. He always got them pretty quickly, and he could craft elaborate animations that always left George gaping.

It was okay that they were different, because being different made them stronger. Where Fred hesitated, George would charge in. When George tripped, Fred would catch him.

The problem, however, was that no one ever _saw_ these differences. Maybe that was their fault, for being too good at the deception. Even their own mother couldn't tell them apart.

Fred still partly regretted not being able to enter the Triwizard Tournament. If they had managed to get past the age line, _and_ if one of them had been selected, then suddenly they would be two completely separate people. One who was a Triwizard Champion, and one who was that champion's greatest cheerleader. Why did their birthday have to be in _April_? Being sixteen sucked.

Then again, the first task had been a sobering realization of just how dangerous the tournament was. Fred had no idea what he would do if he had to watch George go up against a _dragon_ of all things. He would've been terrified out of his wits.

So maybe it was for the best, then, that they remained the Weasley Twins, and not the Hogwarts Champion and friend. Even if it relegated him to a lifetime of being one half of a complete person.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" an impatient voice asked, jerking Fred out of his quiet contemplations.

"What? Er, no, sorry." Fred obediently moved away from the top of the staircase, where he'd gotten distracted staring out the window at nothing in particular.

One of the Carrow twins (Fred had no idea which one) squinted at him. "You're not planning mischief, are you?" she asked skeptically.

"No, no mischief," Fred promised, crossing his heart dramatically.

Carrow rolled her eyes. "Whatever, you dweeb."

"King of dweebs, at your service." Fred pulled an imaginary hat off his head and swept it in an elaborate bow.

Was that a hint of a smile on Carrow's face? "I wouldn't say you're the _king_ of dweebs. More like a dweeb peasant, really. Just another dweeb peon." She flicked her dark brown hair away from her face in a faux-regal manner.

"I'm wounded," Fred said, putting a hurt expression on his face.

This time, Carrow's lips definitely twitched. She made to push past him, and then suddenly stopped. "Say," she said, a contemplative look on her face. "You're rather skilled in the art of messing with people, aren't you?"

Fred hesitated, fully aware that he was talking to a fifth-year Slytherin. "One could say that," he allowed.

Carrow leaned in, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Well my twin sister's been made a prefect, and I have yet to show her just _how much_ I appreciate her loyal service to the school."

Now that was a cause he could get behind. "I think I might be able to offer my assistance," Fred said slowly, a smile making its away across his face.

"You're rather good at charms, right?"

Fred's heart skipped a beat. "Why do you say that?"

"I see you practicing all the time in study hall," she explained. The study halls were all-years, and this year the sixth-year Gryffindors happened to have one with the fifth-year Slytherins.

He and George often practiced charms in study hall, taking advantage of the wider space of the Great Hall to send various animation charms at each other. Undoubtedly everyone had noticed them working on it.

Why did Fred suddenly feel so disappointed?

Carrow must have noticed something was wrong, because she frowned. "Is tomorrow evening okay? By the statue of Diddle the Deluded?"

Fred pasted a smile back on his face. Diddle the Deluded was the perfect place to meet, since behind the statue was a secret staircase that went from the first level of the dungeons (where the statue was located) up to the east side of the sixth floor. "Sounds good to me."

"Great," Carrow said, with a genuine smile. "I'll bring the ideas I have so far."

And then she walked away, leaving Fred feeling suddenly bereft.

* * *

The next evening, Fred waited in the staircase while he sent George out to meet Carrow.

It wasn't long at all before George walked back inside, a strange expression on his face.

"What is it?" Fred asked immediately, startled at seeing an expression on his own face that he couldn't decipher.

"She wants to talk to you," was all George said.

Fred gaped at him, and pushed his way out of the passage with trepidation.

Indeed, Carrow was waiting for him, with an impatient look on her face.

"How did you know it wasn't me?" he asked her, the words spilling out of him before he could help himself.

Carrow's eyebrows shot up. "Are you _serious_?"

"Er..."

"You two think you're so clever, don't you? My sister and I have been pulling that swapping identities trick since before you were even _born_."

"We're older than you!" Fred protested, a smile taking over his face without his consent.

"Pffft, maybe, but we're _far_ wiser." Carrow had a smile of her own, now.

They stared at each other for a moment, each considering something that they hadn't ever considered before.

Carrow's smile fell suddenly. "Uh, I don't actually know your first name," she admitted awkwardly.

"Oh, well, that's a relief, because I don't know yours either." What use were names, after all, when the things they described were unique enough that you could recognize them on sight?

"It's Hestia," Hestia said, her smile returning in full force.

"Nice to meet you, Hestia," Fred said, beaming. "My name is Fred."

 _Two days later…_

Flora Carrow stormed into the Great Hall, shouting for her sister— her hair having been styled into a perfect moving model of the Hogwarts castle.


	9. Round 9

Author's Note: :)

Round 9: Gear Up

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: Hoops: Write about someone meeting a goal.

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 996 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Keep Quiet**

Eight years ago it was fine.

Have you ever thought something like that? Looked back and realized that it _used_ to be fine— which meant it wasn't fine now, not anymore.

I laughed when they warned me. I thought it a joke; light teasing amongst friends. How was I to know they were serious when I was talking to the _Weasley twins_? They were _known_ for never being serious!

So I didn't listen. I didn't listen, and I let my obsession consume me. I fell so far, so deep into it that I didn't realize when I could no longer come up for air.

It started after I graduated. I signed on with Puddlemere United as a reserve Keeper. It was everything I'd hoped for, and more. I spent all my time training, coming up with new plays— the team was wary of my ideas at first, but after one of my moves won them a tricky match, they started listening to me more and more.

It still wasn't enough though. My whole life, I'd wanted nothing more than to be a starting player on a real, professional Quidditch team. My teammates were amazed by my dedication, but of course, they were all just as dedicated. How could I realize something was wrong, when everyone around me was doing the same thing?

Last year I finally made it. Starting Keeper for Puddlemere United. My parents were so proud of me. They took me out for a nice dinner in celebration. They wanted to throw a party for me, but I wouldn't let them. As a starting player, I needed to practice even more than I already did. I didn't have time for parties, for such social frivolities.

I didn't see them again for months.

My father's birthday was the next time we were all together. Again, we went out for dinner. And again, I left early to get to bed, so that I could start practice early the next day.

That was the last time I saw them.

They died a month later. A car accident, or so I was told. I didn't even know they owned a car. How could I? I never talked to them. Maybe they'd had a car for years, and I'd just never known. Maybe they'd bought it only a week before.

They're gone now. They're gone, and there are so many things I wish I'd told them. I wish I'd told them I loved them more. I wish I'd said goodbye the night I'd last seen them. A proper goodbye, instead of a harried wave as I rushed out the door.

Did they know that I appreciated everything they'd done for me? Did they know that, even though I never said it? Never even hinted at it?

I'm a great Keeper. My team is phenomenal, filled with amazingly skilled people who care deeply about the sport. I have dozens of fans, who come to every game and always ask for autographs. They must have hundreds of the things, by now. What do they even do with all of them?

Today is my birthday. Did you know that? Probably not. I've never told anyone. I never liked making a big deal out of it, and I always celebrated quietly with my parents.

But now they're gone, and there's no one to celebrate with anymore.

To my team members: I love you. I love all of you. But I wish I'd never met you. I wish I'd gone into Charms research after I graduated, like my mother had always suggested. Or that I'd gone into the Ministry, like my father.

I wish that because, even though I've had the time of my life playing Quidditch with you, Quidditch has _been_ my life. I should've listened, all those years ago. I thought they were joking.

It wasn't anyone's fault, what happened. The bludger was faulty. It should never have been going as fast as it was. It wasn't your fault, Lyle. You couldn't have known it would hit me like that. You couldn't have known what would happen.

I haven't left my apartment in weeks. Where would I go?

No one's visited. How could they, when they don't know where I live? I've never had anyone over. What's the point, I thought to myself, when I have to be up early for practice? How can I spare time for people, I reasoned, when I need these plays by this weekend?

Being a starting player was everything I ever wanted. The challenge, the thrill, the satisfaction of seeing my team perform like a well-oiled machine— this was what made my life worth living.

I don't care about any of that anymore. I miss it, but I had a good run. That's not why I'm writing this.

The only thing I wanted was to play Quidditch. I should have wanted so much more. Because I _played_ Quidditch. I played, and it's over. And now I'm free.

Free to… do _what_ , exactly? Work on hobbies? I don't have any. Quidditch _was_ my hobby.

Spend time with loved ones? They're dead. My parents were the only people in the world I ever loved, and they're gone. It's for the best. I'm glad they didn't live to see this.

I have the rest of my life ahead of me, but what's the point? I've already accomplished everything I ever wanted. What else is there? What does the future hold?

The same thing the present holds: the endless monotony of my empty, lonely apartment.

I don't know if anyone will find this. I own this flat, so there's no landlord to come looking for rent. Maybe someday someone will get curious about flat no. 104, that no one ever enters or leaves. Maybe that hypothetical person will break in and find this.

Or maybe not. In the end, does it really matter if anyone reads this?

My name is Oliver Wood, and I'm writing to say goodbye.


	10. Dear Hermione

Author's Note: :(

Round 10: Music Through the Decades

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: 2000's: We Belong Together — Mariah Carey

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 992 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Dear Hermione**

I was up late last night thinking. Staring at the ceiling, staring at the wall, staring at the window— everything but staring at the inside of my eyelids and slipping off into a peaceful slumber.

You'll probably be surprised to hear that I was thinking about you.

Hermione, do you remember when we were kids and you said I had the emotional range of a teaspoon? Well, I'm not sure that's true anymore. I've felt so many different things since we broke up— since I dumped you.

Every time I close my eyes, I see your smile. I can still feel the springy texture of your hair under my fingers; smell the soft scent of library books and ink that so encompses who you are as a person.

Harry didn't speak to me for a week, after the breakup. He said I was being an idiot, that none of this would've happened if I'd just _listened_ to you when you said you needed space, the first time. That you not wanting to move in with me didn't mean you secretly hated me.

But Hermione, you have to understand: my whole life, I've always been the youngest son. The one who got picked on and pushed around. The one who had to grow up watching my older siblings excel at everything they tried to do. Charlie, Bill, Percy, Fred, George… they all had something that made them special, that made them stand out.

What did I have? You and Harry. That's it. I never had any special talents or skills that I could point to, but I did have the two best friends anyone could ever ask for.

When you said you needed space to live and grow as your own person, I thought that meant you were done with me. I'd thought you'd finally woken up and realized that I was nothing. That I had nothing to offer you. So of course in some macho effort to save my pride, I decided I needed to end things first.

It never occurred to me that you might actually _mean_ what you said. I thought it was goodbye; I never realized there might be a hello attached to it too. Of course, now it's too late. We haven't talked in ages, and I don't blame you.

Do you remember the day we broke up? I do. Every second of it is burned into my mind with crystal clarity. I was screaming at you to just admit that you hated me and had never loved me, and you were sitting silently on the sofa with tears streaming down your face. You stood up and walked out that door, and we never spoke again.

Do you remember how hard you fought for us? How many times we sat down together, and you reassuring me over and over again that you loved me, that you wanted to be together.

You probably remember me throwing that love back in your face.

I suppose it was inevitable that we broke up. Really, I'd been trying to break us up for ages. All you had to do was stop fighting it.

I saw you in the Prophet the other day. You looked happier than I've seen you in years. You looked more relaxed, too. I never realized how much stress I was adding to your life.

You're not the only one that's changed, though. I've matured a lot over these past few months. I've been seeing a therapist, and I've started managing my time better so I don't get suddenly overwhelmed with work all at once. My life's a lot easier now, now that I'm not making it harder.

If I were a worse man, this is the part where I'd beg you for another chance. I'd tell you how wonderful you are, how smart and beautiful, how I'm not worthy but if you just give me one more minute of your time I promise I'll make up for everything I did to you. I'd tell you how I've changed, how I'll do better this time, I promise.

But that would be a lie. I can't ever make it up to you, and it would be selfish of me to think that I could do better next time. _Maybe_ I could do better. Maybe by some miracle this slight bit of self-awareness I've struggled for _would_ actually change things. Probably not, though. There's poison inside of me, and that hasn't gone away. All the anger and insecurity is still there, just waiting to be let out. I'm managing better, but I still have bad days. On those days, I don't miss you. I envy you. I wish I could leave me too.

The good periods are getting longer, though. I might get a promotion at work soon. I deserve it. I've been working hard lately, and getting good results. Even Ginny's impressed, although she doesn't want to admit it. She's still mad at me for mucking things up with you.

Growing up with my parents, and now, seeing Harry and Ginny— I always had this idea that love should be effortless. That a relationship would be easy if two people just loved each other enough. It's clear now that that's not true. Love is difficult. It's messy, and hard, and you have to fight for it every single day.

I'm sorry I never fought for you, Hermione. In a certain, fucked up way though, I don't regret it. What we had — the _way_ we had it — wasn't worth fighting for. I think Harry still secretly wants us to get back together, but let's be honest: that would be a disaster.

It's kind of funny, in a sense. You said you wanted space to find yourself and grow as a person, but since our breakup, I feel like I've done more growing than anyone. And maybe someday I'll finally grow up.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I'm sorry._

 _Love,  
_ _Ron_


	11. Hermione takes a wrong turn

Author's Note: I don't know why I keep writing hg/rw. I don't ship it.

Round 11: Seasons

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: Tragic story on an autumn night

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 1060 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Ten Miles Til Midnight**

 _21_.

She turned, surprised at the mist that had suddenly gathered behind her. The air had a sharp chill to it, promising a cold night. The rain beat a steady rhythm on the ground.

"Okay…" Hermione said, frowning at the curling tendrils of condensate. She drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders to ward off the wet. She peered ineffectively through the trees, trying to see past the thick fog. It surrounded her, cutting off the path she'd been on.

A bird cry startled her, and she looked up automatically. The grey clouds stood out against the dark sky, framing the bright white of the full moon.

Hermione peered down at her watch. She looked back up at the moon.

"Hmm," she mumbled to herself, tapping her watch with a mild curiosity. "That's odd."

"Hermione?!" came Ron's panicked voice. He sounded far away; muffled. "Hermione!"

"Coming!" Hermione shouted back. Her voice didn't go anywhere; flattened by the thick air.

"Hermione, no!" Ron yelled again.

"Oh, honestly!" Hermione tutted. She rolled her shoulders, straightened her back, and walked into the mist.

Hermione Granger disappeared.

The rain stopped.

 _18_.

"So how was your day?" Ron asked idly, flipping through _The_ _Daily Prophet_.

"Oh Ron, you know I can't talk about anything regarding my work. That's why they call us 'Unspeakables'," Hermione huffed. She toyed with her pasta, her fork leaving trails on the plate.

Ron paused, staring at her for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and folded the paper, setting it gently down on the table. "Hermione," he said in a tired voice. "You haven't—"

 _5._

The whispers started in her dreams. Softly, at first. She'd be dreaming about Hogwarts, and she'd hear them. She'd be dreaming about her friends, and she'd hear them.

She'd be dreaming about work, and she'd hear them.

Then she started noticing them while she was awake. The first thing she did was have her ears checked.

The healer cleaned them with some sort of potion, and when that hadn't helped, he'd sent a little wriggling black thing into her ear.

Hermione tolerated it with the bad grace of someone raised Muggle, but it had been over quickly enough.

"Something's definitely strange," the healer said, examining the goo the black thing had melted into. "Not quite magic residue, but something, maybe. Have you been cursed recently?"

"Not that I know of," Hermione replied primly.

"Just a thought. It doesn't look much like a curse anyway." The healer scratched his chin consideringly. "It doesn't seem to be dangerous, whatever it is. It's possible it'll go away on its own. Come back if it gets worse though, alright?"

Hermione didn't.

 _14_.

It was raining now. It was always raining, it seemed. It never snowed, even though the nights were getting long and there was a frost on the ground every morning. The cold had seeped into the house even, into her very bones. The trees outside were bare, devoid of the leaves they'd worked so hard to grow. They rose like shadows against the bright blue sky.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked her, his expression tight with worry.

"Hmm?" Hermione said distractedly. "Oh, yes, of course, Ron."

"Have you had breakfast yet?" He hovered around her, wringing his hands uncertainly.

Hermione stared out the window. It was foggy out, too. Fog _and_ rain. What a treat of a day it would be.

"Hermione? Have you had breakfast yet?" Ron asked her. He reached out to touch her, but drew back at the last second.

"I had some blueberries." Hermione wasn't hungry. The windowsill was hard under her hand; the new paint still somewhat tacky.

"You finished the blueberries yesterday," Ron whispered.

"Oh, sorry, did you want some?" The sunlight streamed in through the window, but Hermione couldn't feel the warmth on her hands.

Outside, it was raining.

 _3._

"It's about Miss Granger's most recent psych evaluation," the man said, holding a folder in front of his chest like a shield.

"What about it?" Ron asked. Dread grew in the pit of his stomach.

"We noticed some irregularities—"

"What does that mean?" Ron demanded, his voice rising in a panicked anger.

"Mister Weasley, please—"

"Come off it, Reggie! This is Hermione we're talking about. I know she hasn't been— Please, just tell me what's wrong," Ron begged.

Reggie hesitated. "We're not actually sure, Ron," he admitted quietly. "Some sort of accident or something. It's like nothing we've ever seen before."

 _6_.

Hermione wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. She'd been freezing lately, for some reason. Even right next to the fire, she could still feel the chill in her bones. It felt like she'd never be warm ever again.

"Can you turn the heat up?" Hermione called to Ron, who was sitting on the sofa as far away from the fire as he could. He was sprawled out, wearing shorts and a thin t-shirt.

"It's all the way up, Hermione," he said concernedly. "Are you alright?"

"I must be getting sick or something," she said, frowning at the flames.

"Well, it is flu season," Ron noted weakly. He didn't sound convinced.

Hermione didn't notice.

 _19_.

"—been to the DoM in weeks."

 _1_.

It was wrong of her, she knew that. There were supposed to be two of them in the room at all times. But Davidsohn had stepped out to use the loo, and really, she just wanted to try one quick thing…

So she'd approached the veil, wand out to try the new analysis charm she crafted (and that was it, she promised!), when she saw it. Something _glimmering_ , just beyond the curtain.

She hadn't been able to help herself. She'd leaned closer, to get a better look—

The evacuation alarm went off, startling Hermione. She fell forward, catching herself on the sides of the archway. It was the non-emergency alarm, which meant they probably weren't about to _die_ or anything, but they were expected to put their experiments into stasis and evacuate as quickly as possible nonetheless.

Hermione huffed, and turned away from the veil. She didn't notice the way her hand, for a moment, brushed the curtain— and went _through_.

Hermione walked out of the room, the veil's curtain rippling excitedly behind her.

 _22._

Later, people would say that Hermione Granger died on the 24th of November. They were wrong.

She'd already been dead for weeks.


	12. Harry takes his niece for a drive

Author's Note:

Round 12: Pair them up!

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: You'll be writing about two characters in a familial relationship. It does not need to be canonical. (Harry & Rose)

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 1532 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Drive On, Harry Potter**

For the third time that day, Harry nearly got into an accident.

"God, who taught you to drive," Rose muttered to herself, from where she was slumped in the passenger seat.

"It's not me, it's people in this _fucking_ city—"

Rose's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't say anything about his language, much to his eternal relief. The last thing he wanted was to be lectured on his language by a teenage girl, especially on what had to be the most frustrating day of his adult working life. When had he become, just another pointless bureaucrat, instead of someone who actually made a difference in people's lives?

First, the stupid elevator had broken down, then Johnson had accidentally set fire to the filing room, and they still couldn't find Mary, which somehow everyone seemed content to blame _Harry_ for even though he hadn't even been in the office at the time. He'd been a hero once; he'd been the fucking _Boy-Who-Lived_. And now he was just another cog in a useless government machine.

Then, to top it all off, now he was stuck ferrying Rose around in a _car_ of all things because he wasn't allowed to Apparate until his back sprain healed.

He would've refused, but he'd never seen Hermione look so tired before. And even though he'd had a shit day, it seemed like Hermione's might have been even worse. So he'd agreed without protest, although he'd regretted it the second he saw Rose come downstairs with her overly dramatic makeup that she thought made her look edgy, and the sullen expression that seemed to permanently live on her face.

The car in front of him suddenly slammed on its brakes, and Harry almost didn't stop in time.

"Learn how to drive, moron!" Harry shouted fruitlessly. The window wasn't even open.

"I don't even want to go to this stupid thing," Rose said, glaring at the traffic stretching in front of them.

"Yeah? Well, too bad. Your mum thinks it'll be good for you." Harry actually suspected it was just a means of getting Rose out of the house, but he didn't begrudge Hermione the urge. He had kids of his own. He understood.

"But I'm not a Muggle! Why should I go to a Muggle science camp?"

"Your mum went when she was a kid, and she loved it," Harry told her, although he was just guessing. Hermione had never spoken about it to him, and in fact Harry hadn't even known she'd gone until she'd signed Rose up. It was sort of strange, really, to realise how much of Hermione's life he'd never known about when they were younger. In retrospect, he thought she might've been embarrassed about it. She'd tried so hard when they were teenagers to distance herself from her Muggle upbringing, even as she fought so hard for Muggleborn rights. That's where Harry assumed this sudden obsession with teaching Rose about Muggles came from. Some misplaced guilt left over from her younger years, when she'd spent as many breaks in the Wizarding World as she could.

"But _I_ don't love it! It's boring and stupid! It's not fair that she's making me go just because _she_ liked it a billion years ago!" In typical teenager fashion, Rose was technically correct, while completely missing the subtleties of the situation.

"It means a lot to your mum," Harry tried, even as he knew what the response would be.

"Well it would mean a lot to _me_ if I could actually spend time with my friends, instead of hanging around stupid classrooms watching goo fizzle," Rose said, and the force of her scorn was almost enough to get the traffic moving again.

"For Merlin's sake, it's just an hour."

"It's an hour every single evening! Like I don't have better things to do with my time?"

Desperate, Harry switched tactics again. "It would mean a lot to your mother," he wheedled. "And you know she's under a lot of stress right now." Her always-stressful job had become even _more_ stressful after the accident. Ron had hurt himself pretty badly, in the same incident where Harry'd sprained his shoulder, actually, and as a result was confined to a hospital bed for the foreseeable future. Suddenly Hermione had been saddled with all the life management stuff Ron had formerly taken care of. Harry and Ginny helped out where they could, but Hermione and the kids had been living off of takeaway pretty heavily for the past week. And no one knew when Ron would be up on his feet again.

"Like I'm not under stress!" Rose protested hotly. "I've got tons of stuff going on, and instead mum forces me to do these stupid activities that literally no one cares about! She's so selfish; she never thinks about anyone but herself!"

Harry was so taken aback by the complete _wrongness_ of this statement that he messed up a tricky turn and managed to crash directly into a lamp post.

When he regained awareness a few moments of dazed confusion later, his Auror instincts kicked in, and the first thing he did was cast a Muggle-repelling ward.

Then _common sense_ kicked in and the second thing he did was check on Rose.

This may have been a Muggle car, but that hadn't stopped Hermione from charming it up the arse with as many safety enchantments as she could cram on it. As a result, Rose didn't even have a bloody nose, although she seemed to be suffering from mild shock.

"You okay?" Harry asked with a sigh, leaning over and gripping her shoulder.

"I thought I was going to die," she said blankly, still staring out the windshield.

When Harry had been her age, he'd already faced Voldemort four times, been attacked by a Basilisk, and had almost been Kissed by over a hundred Dementors. But, he supposed, when you'd lived a normal life then a mild car accident might seem like a big deal.

Wisely, he chose not to say any of what he was thinking, and instead asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Rose said, but it was clear her heart wasn't in it.

"You do realise how hard it's been for your mum, with your dad in the hospital, right?"

"So hard she can't even talk to me anymore!" Rose said bitterly, and Harry blinked in surprise. He'd thought Rose was irritated because her mother was taking up too _much_ of her time.

"What do you mean?"

"The only time she ever says anything to me is to shout at us to do something. She's always talking to Hugo about Dad and stuff, giving him hugs and telling him everything'll be alright, but the only times she ever talks to me is when she's _yelling_ at me. Hugo's only a few years younger than me, but she treats him like a baby!"

There it was. Suddenly, Rose's behaviour made so much more sense. "Well, Hugo _needs_ to be babied," Harry explained patiently. "Your mother trusts you to be okay on your own."

"But what if I'm not okay?" Rose whispered, not meeting his eyes. "Uncle Harry, what if Dad never gets better?"

Harry pulled her into a tight hug, ignoring the way the centre console dug into his hip. A moment later, Rose let out a choked sob and Harry could feel the warmth of tears on his shoulder. "Shhh, Rosie, it's alright," Harry murmured, gently stroking the back of her head. "Your dad's being looked after by some of the best healers around. They'll fix him, for sure."

"You promise?" Rose said into his shirt.

"I promise." He was lying, and he thought they both knew it, but Rose seemed to find some comfort in the words anyway, for a moment later she drew back and gave him a watery smile.

She looked an absolute fright, with makeup running down her cheeks and her eyes red and puffy.

" _Tergeo_." Harry cast a quick cleaning charm on her face, while Rose bore it with the good grace of someone who'd grown up covering herself in dirt at every available opportunity. "Now why don't I fix the car, and then we can go get ice cream and walk around Muggle London instead of your science thing?"

"That sounds great!" Rose said emphatically, and then hesitated. She chewed her lip nervously, the way Hermione always used to when she was younger. "And maybe you could— except I know you're super busy— but maybe if you've got time, we could, you know, go to the museum or something instead of me going to the science camp by myself, since I'd still be learning about Muggles and stuff, and science, and mum would be fine with it, right? Only, I think it'd be more fun, you know? To hang out with you instead?"

She looked so hopeful that Harry wouldn't have been able to bring himself to say no even if he _didn't_ have the time. "Rose," he said solemnly. "I would love to."

Rose grinned at him, real happiness breaking across her face like the sun across the horizon, and Harry felt that maybe he _could_ still be a hero, after all.


	13. Random whispering wizard

Author's Note: I haven't seen HBP so I know literally nothing about the scene other than what's on the wiki page, so… here we go.

Round 13: Finals 1

Team: Pride of Portree

Keeper's Prompt: Write about the Whispering Wizard (there is a link to his page on the Knockturn Alley Wiki)

Position: Keeper

Word Count: 1029 excluding Author's Note

* * *

 **Whisper Secrets in My Ear**

First of all, he absolutely was _not_ going to stick his whole arm in the hole. "Why would I even do that?" the wizard whispered furiously into the wall.

The wall whispered back. "Oi, c'mon mate, it'll be fun. What've you got to lose?"

"Um, how about _my arm_?" The wizard fixed the wall with an especially good glare of his, one he'd picked up from his ex-girlfriend. She'd used it on him… a lot.

"Why'd ya need two, anyways?" the wall cajoled, as if this were in any way a negotiation.

"What do _I_ need my arm for?! You're a wall! What could you possibly—" The wizard's exclamation was a notch above a whisper at this point, and he was starting to attract some strange looks (and when people in Knockturn Alley were staring at you, that's when you knew things had gotten bad).

"Hey!" the wall protested. "That's 'ardly fair, is it? Maybe I've got things I need ta hold? Didya ever think of _that_ , huh?"

"How could my arm possibly help you if you haven't even got a body?" the wizard pointed out, wondering what he was still doing even talking to the blasted thing. Curiosity, unfortunately. The Wizarding World was a vast and mysterious place, but there was a surprising lack of talking masonry in it. And blast him, he wanted to know _why_ it was talking.

"Now yer just bein' rude," the wall huffed. How was it _huffing_? It couldn't possibly have lungs!

...Could it?

"Well, what things do you want to hold then? Maybe I can hold them for you, and you wouldn't need my arm at all," the wizard said reasonably.

The wall considered this. "I want a hat," it finally decided.

"You haven't even got a head!" the wizard exploded, throwing his arms up in the air.

"That's why I need to _hold_ it instead," the wall said. "Have ya always been this thickheaded?"

It occurred to the wizard that maybe he shouldn't press too much, in case the wall decided it wanted his head instead of just his arm. For the hundredth time since this conversation first began, the wizard considered walking away. But deep inside, he knew that somewhere, inside this strange hole in the wall, was everything he'd been looking for and if he just gave up now, then… Well then all the things Olivia had shouted at him while throwing his stuff out the window would be true.

"What if I got you a hook or something?" the wizard tried. "Then I could hang a hat from it."

The wall was silent for a moment. The wizard had no idea what it could be thinking. It wasn't exactly _expressive_.

The wizard stared into the hole, and deep inside, something twinkled back at him. "Ah _hah_ ", he said quietly. "There we go." And now he was sure. Where before there was idle curiosity, now there was grim determination. His half-baked hunch had been _right_.

"I might like that," the wall finally admitted. If the wall could've shrugged, it probably would have, and sent masonry crashing down around them.

"Excellent, then I'll be right back," the wizard said cheerfully. A small hook… and a niffler, he decided. Maybe one on a leash.

Only minutes later, he was pulling the niffler out of the hole— a small gold ring held firmly in its little mouth.

"Goodbye, wall," the wizard said. The wall didn't respond. The wizard didn't expect it to. Instead, he Stunned the niffler and pulled the ring out of its mouth. Gold— with a trio of diamonds set into the center. It was, of course, an engagement ring. It was also cursed, because the proposal had ended… quite badly. Unsurprising, given that Olivia had just found out about Deidre. And Annabelle. And Elizabeth. Thankfully not Lillian, though. That would've been… that would've been awkward.

When he turned away from the wall, Olivia was standing there, a scowl on her face. "You found it then," she said in a flat tone.

The wizard inspected the ring. "I suppose I did," he said.

Olivia sighed. "It was supposed to _eat_ you, the blasted thing. But of _course_ I configured the curse wrong and it gave the whole thing away. Never trust a bit of masonry to do a woman's job, I suppose."

"So _you're_ going to eat me, then?" the wizard said with a cheeky grin. A moment later, he'd put his hands up, staring down cross-eyed at Olivia's wand right in front of his nose. "Or not," he hastily corrected.

"I am going to kill you," Olivia said slowly. The anger had left her face, leaving an eerie blankness that was somehow even more terrifying.

"I'd prefer that you didn't," the wizard said, wondering if he had time to go for his wand before she cursed him. Probably not worth the risk.

"I really don't care what you'd prefer," Olivia said. The wizard wasn't surprised.

"You'll go to Azkaban over me?" he said quietly.

"You think I'll get caught?"

"Liv, we're in the middle of Knockturn Alley. You do realize people are watching?"

Olivia didn't look around, but her hand tightened around her wand.

"Think about your future, Liv. Think what your mom will say if you get arrested."

"Stop calling me that," she hissed, real emotion making its way back onto her face.

"You know I'm just—" He didn't hear the curse that hit him, but damn did he _feel_ it.

"You're right," she said quietly, standing over his fallen form as he writhed on the ground. "You're not worth it, and you've never been." She reached down, and picked up the ring that had fallen out of his hand. She inspected it with a practiced eye, and then tucked it into her pocket.

"Wait—" the wizard gasped, and reached out for her. "That's my grand—"

Olivia stomped on his hand, twisting her heel and smiling at the crack of bones. "Bye, idiot." And she turned around and flounced away.

In the last moments before the wizard passed out, he heard a dry chuckle, and a voice like stones scraping against each other: "Shoulda just stuck yer arm in."


End file.
